The Reformed Death Eaters' Cookbook
by Salome Weil
Summary: When an unusual project comes across Hermione's desk at her publishing house, it cooks up all sorts of wonderful new possibilities...and maybe a dash of romance!
1. A Recipe for Potential

**I own no part of the HP franchise and make no profit off this fic. All rights to JK Rowling, WB and Scholastic. **

**AN: Another tidbit that's been floating about. Inspired by an interesting discussion/post from the lovely kazfeist and the idea is used here with her permission. Let me know if you like it/want more! :) I hope you also enjoy my nod (and it is merely a nod- blink and you'll miss it!) to the wonderful, genius story Hungry Thirst Crazy by the talented Sinister Papaya Fondue.**

**

* * *

**It was no secret that Hermione Granger loved books. Big books, little books, long, short, academic, leisure, romantic, classic, fiction, nonfiction. She read them all eagerly and stored their information away in her magnificent mind like the lessons each one had to tell were just as important as the last.

So it was really no wonder that she'd ended up at a wizarding publishing house. The only wizarding publishing house that meant anything to anyone. As their top editor, in fact.

With a sigh of pleasure she waltzed into her office and hung up her robes, pausing to sniff the orchid at her window before she took a seat at her desk. The sign on her door read, "Hermione Granger, Chief Editor, Peverell and Nott Publishing," and there wasn't a day that went by that she wasn't supremely pleased with herself for not only landing such a gladsome job, but for being able to do something every day of her life that she really enjoyed.

Which was why the next memo that landed on her desk surprised her so much. In fact, it was probably be the only time she'd ever regret taking her job. (Excepting the time that awful man had walked in and tried to sell her his memoirs. Lucius Malfoy? An author? Phbbbt.)

Now, she looked down at the unfolded memo in consternation. The head of the house wanted to meet with her concerning a new project from Narcissa Malfoy for possible publication under their younger Whomping Willow name. Hermione wasn't surprised that Madame Feist wanted to meet with her personally to discuss a new client; that happened a lot more regularly than it probably should have with a chief editor; but she trusted her instincts and her love of books. Hermione screwed her mouth up thoughtfully and stared at the memo, as if willing it to disappear. She really didn't want to have to deal with any Malfoys just then. Seeing her son every time she walked into the ministry copyrighting offices was bad enough. Not that she still harbored _many_ feelings against their lot. It was more of a general awkwardness that accompanied such visits. Draco, though still arrogant beyond belief, at least seemed to make some sort of effort to be cordial. Why, they'd even graduated to an easily shared smile the last time they'd seen one another. Which was better than what Ron did for him. She'd never forget the unfortunate time he'd come along on one of her visits…

Pushing back the shudder that accompanied that memory, she stood up and put her robes back on. Well, time to go meet the new client. And she was a little curious at what this new project might be…she hadn't liked the idea of the woman's husband's memoirs, but You-Know-Who's service from a woman's point of view might be very interesting. She bet a lot of people would read it and especially find her a sympathetic character. A lonely woman, only looking out for her son's life, forced to endure awful tasks…

Hermione was already romanticizing it and playing around with cover ideas when she arrived at Madame Feist's office. No one named Nott or Peverell still worked at the publishing house, though she believed the Notts still own some small share of the company. Madame Feist had been working as the head of the house for quite some time now. No book passed through its halls without stopping at her desk first. The woman was constantly reading.

With only a hint of trepidation, Hermione stepped into the office.

"Ah, Ms. Granger, please- sit down. You know Narcissa already, I believe?"

"We've met," Hermione answered wryly and shook Narcissa's small, pale hand anyway. The woman looked about as awkward as she felt on the inside. Still, she tried to smile pleasantly, despite the haunted look that floated about her proud features.

Merlin, Draco took after his mum. The thought sent a smile to her own face and Narcissa's tentative one expanded slightly. Once Hermione had taken a seat, Madame Feist began speaking rapidly.

"Now, Mrs. Malfoy here has cooked up- oh, that's a good one, isn't it? Sorry, sorry- she's come up with a wonderful idea for a fundraiser. She was- what was it?"

"Going through the Manor-"

"Yes, yes. Going through her Manor's old things and she found some old recipes of her mother's and mother-in-law's and one thing led to another, did it? I believe you have some recipes of your own as well- that's correct? Anyway, she immediately got on the floo with some of the other wives and they came up with this idea."

"I'm sorry- a fundraiser?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Yes, yes! For charity."

"Of recipes." Hermione felt her heart slow. So. No exciting memoirs here, no tea and sympathy. Just…tea. She would have laughed if it hadn't been inappropriate.

"Yes- we thought we might call it, The Reformed Death Eaters' Cookbook," Narcissa supplied, looking hopeful.

Hermione did laugh at that and Narcissa looked disgruntled for a moment before she plowed forward diligently.

"It's just that so many of the wives- we didn't truly approve of what was going on, but our families' lives were at stake. And now we're all but ostracized in many circles and, well, we want to give back. We thought we could donate all the proceeds to charity, you see. What's that fund for the muggleborn orphans?"

Hermione's laughter died away as she gazed at Narcissa thoughtfully. The woman was quite serious, she could see that.

"The Reformed Death Eaters' Cookbook," she repeated slowly.

"Yes," Narcissa replied.

Hermione's eyes gleamed with more unvoiced laughter, but she managed to keep a straight face. "Merlin help me, I love it. You'd probably sell hundreds on morbid curiosity alone."

"Wonderful!" crowed Madame Feist. "Since you're about the only one on staff who won't mind working closely with her, I'm putting you up as head of the project, Ms. Granger. Don't think that means you can shirk your other responsibilities, of course."

"Oh, of course," Hermione responded. "What's our deadline?"

"We're thinking it could be ready for the Christmas season," Madame Feist replied.

"Alright," said Hermione. "That doesn't give us much time, but if you already have many of the recipes, then it shouldn't take so long to get them all in order. Why don't you follow me back to my office," she said to Narcissa, "and we can talk about it more there."

Narcissa nodded, thanked Madame Feist, and followed Hermione out the door. Whispers followed them as witches and wizards poked their heads out of their doors and watched the unlikely pair. Hermione tried to smile comfortingly.

"Ignore them," she whispered to Narcissa.

"Ignore who?" Narcissa responded, looking a bit confused.

"Oh- er- no one," Hermione said and held open the door of her office.

The minute they were inside, Narcissa collapsed into a chair. "Merlin, that was excruciating," she murmured.

"Pardon?"

Narcissa waved a hand. "All that talk and staring. I hate it, but it has to be born." She looked amused at Hermione's confusion. "Thought I didn't notice it? That's the whole point. They stop after a while if they see it's not bothering you. Now," she said, leaning forward, "where shall we start?"

Hermione laughed softly and took her seat again. Narcissa was turning out to be a very interesting woman. Perhaps she'd be able to convince her to write her memoirs after this cookbook affair was settled, after all.

"Well, we'll need to go over every recipe. I'll have to make the food myself, to test its safety. Normally we'd have a team to work on such things, but-"

"But no one wants to work with a Malfoy, yes, I understand," Narcissa said. "That's fine. Where shall we meet? What sort of a schedule is good for you?"

Hermione suggested her own flat, which Narcissa agreed to, and they quickly worked up a schedule of meeting three days a week- devoting two days to cooking and another day to editing and revising. It would be hell on Hermione's weekends, but she was already bringing most of her editing work home anyway, so she didn't care. And Ron was so used to their rare dates that she was certain he wouldn't care, either. Besides, Quidditch was starting in earnest and he would be busy, too. So that took care of that. As their meeting drew to a close, Narcissa began to fidget some and finally drew a small package from beneath her robes.

"Tarts," she murmured. "I wanted to bring a sample of something if you needed convincing, but, well, I hardly want them to go to waste. Here," she said, thrusting them across the desk at Hermione. "Take them."

Hermione poked at the package uncertainly. "What are they?"

"An old Malfoy family recipe. They're called-" and here she mumbled the name.

"What?"

Narcissa's face turned a lovely shade of pink. "Pureblood Tarts," she finally said apologetically.

Hermione laughed for the third time that day. It was the funniest thing she'd heard in a long time. She wouldn't find it half as amusing when its sister recipe, Mudblood Tarts, came up in conversation a week later (especially since they were, ironically, full of chocolate and quite sinful), but she wouldn't be able to deny that both kinds of tarts were quite good.

After Hermione had ushered Narcissa out of her office with the promise of a meeting later that week; and an assurance that she would go see Draco about the copyright; she turned back to her desk and pulled out one of the unassuming tarts. She bit into it carefully and multiple flavors flooded her mouth. The flaky, buttery crust, the caramelized brown sugar around the edges, cherry, raspberry, cinnamon…and a hint of lemon that made her mouth water and pucker just a little at the very end.

Pureblood Tarts, indeed. Pureblood _Heaven_, was more like it. Hermione was certain that she'd never enjoyed a pureblood quite so much.

* * *

_**Pureblood Tarts**_

_Pie crust rolled very thin, cut into circles and placed in cups or muffin tins. (See Pansy's Pie Crust) Brush lightly with melted butter._

_Heat one cup cherries, halved and one cup raspberries together in saucepan with one quarter cup light brown sugar and a half teaspoon cinnamon. Let simmer until thickened._

_Add lemon juice to taste._

_Spoon out equal portions into crusts, top with lemon zest. Bake at 350__° F until crusts golden and lightly browned. Makes two dozen. (Approx.)_


	2. A Recipe for Complications

**I don't own any part of the HP franchise, all rights to WB, Scholastic, and J.K. Rowling. I make no money off this fic.**

**AN: Here it is! Chapter 2! This is probs it for a little while. (My way of telling you I'm terribly busy and have no time for quick updates.) Hope you enjoy!**

**

* * *

**Hermione set her sandwich down so she could better explain the properties of a quark to a fascinated Luna when Harry appeared next to her, tray in hand. Hermione and Luna had met for lunch at a new bistro style cafeteria in Diagon Alley and she was surprised to see Harry so far from the ministry for a meal. She paused her explanation to say so.

"What, don't I at least get a hello?" Harry responded cheerily and Hermione smiled.

"Hello. Now, what are you doing so far from work?"

"Had a call this morning, out this way. Jones suggested breaking for lunch on the way back. Now come on, I don't have but twenty minutes. Tell me all the gossip."

Between Hermione's working in a publishing house and Luna's working for a laboratory that contracted with the ministry quite often, in addition to still heading the Quibbler in her spare time, Harry could effectively get all the news from the non-ministry side of things over a coffee or two, and he often did. He claimed it was good for an Auror to be well informed. Ginny claimed it was because he didn't want to be around his eight months pregnant wife and their toddler who was going through a screaming phase. Hermione figured he was just as much of a voyeur and rumor-monger as the rest of the human population and left it at that. But he was still one of her best friends and she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy their chats.

"Well," Luna began, "Hermione is explaining quantum-mechanics-"

"Physics," Hermione corrected and Luna went on.

"Right, because Wiztech Industries has just opened a new department."

"Oh, right, that contract about time travel?" Harry asked. "The one the ministry awarded them last month?"

"That's the one. Anyway, it's fascinating. I suspect, in fact, that quarks may be distantly related to nargles. I think I might run an article on it in the Quibbler."

Hermione managed to keep her drink down and her coughing fit to a minimum. Harry turned to her.

"And you? What's this I heard about the Malfoys? Ron said you told him you'd actually allowed them into your flat!"

"So that's why you came here. Saw us in the window, did you, and thought you'd butt in where your opinion isn't wanted?" Hermione accused, suddenly upset and Harry backpedaled as fast he could.

"No, no," he said. "Just what Ron told me. Thought I'd better ask. I really did go out this morning with Jones. Calm down, old girl."

"I am not your old girl," Hermione said stiffly. "Now, as for what Ron told you-"

"Is it why you're arguing again?"

"I happen to be in the business of books and Narcissa Malfoy, who is, by the way, a lovely woman now that she doesn't care about blood purity-"

"Yes, now that," Harry snarked and Hermione frowned.

"Going to let me finish?"

"Yes," he said glumly, and filled his mouth with sandwich. Luna coughed politely.

"I think I'll just go put my tray away, then be in the loo for a bit. See you in a few, Hermione," she said pleasantly, stood up and left.

"Harry James Potter-"

"Please, go on, Hermione. I'm sorry."

She shot him a dirty look and then took a deep breath.

"Fine. As I was trying to say, Narcissa has signed a contract with us to produce a cookbook. All proceeds are going to the muggleborn orphan fund. She's collected recipes from all sorts of women formerly associated with the Death Eaters and come Christmas we're going to have it ready to sell. It's really a brilliant idea- not as brilliant as her memoirs would be, but-"

"Hermione, you can't be serious. And why does all this mean you had to invite the Malfoys-"

"Just one Malfoy, Harry. Singular. And it's just Narcissa, coming over three days a week to cook, bake, and revise."

Harry looked slightly less skeptical.

"Still, couldn't do that any other place-"

"Oh, please, Harry. It's not like Ron is ever over when she is and besides, with his schedule it's not like we see each other at all these days anyhow. Ron is just as frustrated with not seeing me as I am with not seeing him, and he had to take it out somehow, so he's made a scapegoat of this poor, lovely project. And furthermore," she went on, wagging her finger at Harry, "he knows that's what's going on and he's being a right arse, taking his time with apologizing to me for it. So why don't you tell him that, the next time he decides to discuss _our_ relationship with someone other than _me_?"

Harry nodded quietly, mouth still full of sandwich, and Hermione huffed. She stood up.

"I'd better go. Maybe Luna will wander around the shops with me. Say hi to Gin for me. I'll see you all soon, I'm sure."

Harry watched her walk away, saw her catch up with Luna, and watched the two witches wander out of the cafeteria and down the cobblestone street together.

He mentally cursed his friendship with Ron. The lying bugger. Trying to get him all worried over Hermione and the Malfoys when there was a perfectly reasonable explanation the whole time. But then, that was what love made one do on occasion. Go nutters, that is, and he should know, after all. He had an eight months pregnant wife and a toddler at home.

* * *

Draco glanced up as his superior poked his head in the office door and tossed a scroll across his desk.

"What's this?" he asked a bit testily, though distracted, as he was up to his elbows in paperwork already. Literally up to his elbows- his shirtsleeves rolled up, his robe hanging discarded across the back of a chair, files teetering precariously every which way on every available surface.

Loads of people were applying for author copyright. Absolute rubbish bin-full loads.

His superior swept a lazy eye over the state of things, didn't see anything amiss, and shrugged. After all, every other office of every other worker under him in their department was just as swamped. He was a wizard who saw the full value of delegation and used it. Liberally.

"Another something I thought you might want to handle personally."

"Another favor?" Draco said, ready to grouse and his superior smiled.

"Nothing you wouldn't have seen eventually anyway. It's your specialty. Authors, collections, etcetera."

"Oh, thanks then for hand-delivering something that would've come across my desk anyhow. That doesn't make me suspicious at all."

"Didn't think it would," the other wizard replied cheerfully before waving dismissively and popping back out into the hall to bother some other overworked staff member.

Raising an eyebrow, Draco reached for the new file and watched in horror and then resignation as his action sent another stack of papers toppling to the floor. He didn't even bother swearing. There was no point when accidents like that happened every five minutes in his office.

"So, let's see what we have here," he murmured to himself as he pushed the scroll open. "Ah, Peverell and Nott," he said with satisfaction. One, he recognized the paper. Only one publishing house used this particular brand in this particular size of scroll. It was extremely high quality magical parchment and if there was one thing Draco Malfoy noticed and appreciated, it was high quality. Two, he recognized the handwriting. There was no mistaking Hermione Granger's beautiful penmanship.

Was there anything so fine as a woman who knew how to write properly? He was hard pressed at this point in his life to name anything else that meant as much. Except, perhaps, a fine figure to match the fine penmanship. Not that he was thinking about Hermione's figure. Not that he cared about any woman's figure these days, aside from the one on her bank account.

But he digressed. Applying himself to the scroll in his hands, he read down…and stopped short. Well. Well, well, well.

Oh, Mother, he thought. Then the look of horror on his face was replaced with one of fond amusement.

At least it wasn't her memoirs.

* * *

Hermione checked her reflection in the mirror in her small hallway before answering the door. A silly concession to the small hold classist attitudes still had on her, but there it was. She was expecting Narcissa Malfoy in her home for the third week running and she'd caught herself dressing up, cleaning the apartment, and double checking every little detail of the evening every single time. Of course, it wasn't as though she wouldn't do the same for any other company she might have over, but it was the principle of the thing. Good manners were one thing. Extra good manners because you were secretly still craving acceptance from a witch who actually needed your acceptance more than you needed hers was another thing entirely.

Hermione turned away from the mirror and pulled the door open, fixing a bright smile on her face.

"Narcissa! Come right in, please."

She hadn't set up to allow the woman to simply floo over and Narcissa hadn't asked either, so she always arrived the old fashioned way- apparating to a back stairwell of Hermione's apartment building. Narcissa was carrying a sizeable package under one arm today and had a large bag over her other shoulder. She scooted past Hermione into the flat and waited for Hermione to precede her into the kitchen.

She was very polite, herself.

"That doesn't look like the makings of Witches' Winter Brew," Hermione remarked as she took the large package from Narcissa and set it on the island in the kitchen. Narcissa shook her head and began unpacking the bag on a nearby counter.

"Well, I was reviewing our plan for the recipes- the testing, you know- and I realized that all the equipment needed for that particular project is so…ungainly. I just thought it might be better if we skipped it for now and moved on to the roasts."

"Reducto of Chicken?" Hermione asked with some interest, picking up the ingredients Narcissa was laying out. "That's the one that's rather like blackened chicken, right? In a sauce."

"That's correct," Narcissa replied, sounding pleased. "I'm so tickled you remember," she went on. "You've really taken to this project. You have no idea how grateful I am, Hermione. It's really going to make all the difference, I can feel it."

Hermione flushed from the unexpected praise and put a jar of something that looked like powdered Blast-ended Skrewt down. She supposed it was to add spice.

"Well," she said, her hands fluttering for something to do, "I'm glad too. These sessions are turning out to be quite fun." She hesitated and let her fingers wander along the counter top as Narcissa bustled about- not that a woman of her elegance ever really bustled, but there it was.

"Still…" she began and Narcissa glanced up.

"Yes?"

"It's just that the Brew is going to take a while and I thought we'd decided that in order to have it tested in time for a Christmas publication we'd have to start it at least this week."

Narcissa hesitated also and finally set the chicken down in a pan still in its wrapping.

"Oh, blast," she said and Hermione gave a start.

"Pardon?"

Narcissa looked rather apologetic. "I'm sorry, Hermione. It isn't just that the equipment will be difficult to move- a simple shrinking charm would easily take care of that. You've seen through me, I'm afraid!" She gave a little, awkward laugh and Hermione raised a brow.

"Pardon?" she whispered again, sudden visions of Narcissa Malfoy snapping and the aurors being called in to find her own mangled body filling her mind.

There was a terrible pause. Then Narcissa cleared her throat.

"I started the Brew already," she said by way of explanation.

Hermione tried not to gasp with relief too loudly. Narcissa went on, looking at Hermione eagerly, as if she wanted her approval.

"Well, it isn't just that I started it. I mean, I didn't really start it. Lucius did, as a matter of fact. He heard- how silly of me, he didn't hear about this from someone off the street- what I mean is, I told him about our project, of course, and he thought he might help out by starting the Brew early. When I found out of course I was very upset because I know there's no way I can expect you to come to the Manor to check it, but the book just wouldn't be complete without that recipe, I really do think. Don't you? So, there it is."

She took a deep breath and continued to watch Hermione expectantly. Hermione wasn't sure whether to laugh, or, well…laugh. So she did. Narcissa looked at her in consternation.

"So it's alright then?"

Hermione managed to get a hold of herself and stifled her laughter. She looked at Narcissa very seriously.

"I can't say I'm too pleased about the unexpected trip to the Manor, but I suppose I wouldn't have been able to avoid it forever anyhow."

"Oh, but you could've," Narcissa said. "I really never expected you to come. I mean, I'd never have asked you otherwise. I, er, that is-"

"That's alright, Narcissa," Hermione replied kindly. "I know what you mean. But we're both adults and it's part of my job to oversee the testing of all these recipes personally. So that's what I'll do. Now, when should we schedule my visit to the Manor, then?"

Narcissa looked uncertain for a moment more, then recovered her normally cool poise. She smiled back at Hermione.

"Well, I was thinking that perhaps- if you like- we might have one of our meetings next week at the Manor instead. Just sort of…switch them about."

"That would certainly make it easier than scheduling a new time altogether," Hermione agreed. "Alright. So next Tuesday afternoon it is. Now, shall we get on with the chicken?"

"Absolutely," Narcissa replied and reached for the jar of powdered Skrewt Hermione had set down moments ago.

Hermione blanched, but didn't say a word and the experimentation continued.

* * *

**_Reducto of Chicken_**

_A whole chicken, cut into pieces, preferably de-boned. (Pre-separated, boneless chicken pieces fine to substitute.) _

_Equal parts cumin, saffron, chili powder, thyme, black pepper, cinnamon (a pinch), garlic (freshly minced or powdered), onion powder, and powdered Blast-ended Skrewt (to taste), sesame oil._

_1 cup coconut milk, 2 tsps lime juice, a pinch of salt and saffron, 1 tbsp butter._

_Combine spices and sesame oil, mix well. Rub down chicken. Marinate in additional mixture if desired. When chicken is prepared, place into an already heated skillet or pan to sear, not more than three minutes each side. Pour remaining mixture over chicken and place directly into an oven at 350º Fahrenheit for twenty to thirty minutes to finish cooking, turning once to redistribute mixture._

_While chicken is finishing, melt butter in a pan. Add coconut milk, lime juice and salt and saffron, mixing thoroughly and simmer. Add flour or cornstarch to thicken._

_Remove chicken from oven, pour sauce over top and serve. Serves 4-6._

_Note: if no powdered Blast-ended Skrewt is available, a dash of hot sauce will substitute._

_

* * *

_

**AN: If any of you get it into your darling heads to make any of these things, let me know, will you? ;)**


	3. A Recipe for Disaster

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I see nothing! No, really. No money, no rights. :D**

**AN: Wow, after such a long wait! I hope you guys like this chapter, those who have waited sooo patiently. Thanks for that. :) **

* * *

Hermione nearly didn't step foot into Malfoy Manor on the allocated day of testing. She'd thought she'd mentally prepared herself for anything when she'd finally worked up the courage to Apparate to the gate and walk herself up the long drive she remembered from so long ago; and yet nothing, it seemed, could have possibly prepared her for what greeted her at the door.

She stared at Lucius Malfoy: hair all flyaway, soot running up the entire left side of his body, a maniacal grin in place, and eyes completely and utterly crazed – and she turned right around and started to walk away, or would've if his voice hadn't arrested her movement.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger!" The entire tenor of his voice changed upon repetition of her name and he laughed – _laughed_ – delightedly and called back over his shoulder into the house. The mansion. Whatever.

"Narcissa! Your company is here! Miss Granger, please, come in. I assure you we've cleaned the place up – er, ignore the state of my clothing, I'm afraid the brewing apparatus needs a thorough cleaning every two days. Narcissa! Miss Granger is here!" he practically sang and then disappeared back into the mansion, hair flying behind him. Hermione turned back around and watched him go, leaving the doors wide open, beckoning her to follow him inside. The he was gone.

She felt her right eye begin to twitch. Oh, god. What had she gotten into? For the first time since the start of the project, she well and truly wondered if maybe Ron hadn't been right. Maybe this was all a mistake…

Narcissa appeared in the doorway, breathless, her eyes trained somewhere inside the hall, probably on her husband. She called after him.

"Lucius, you didn't answer the door that way? Oh, Lucius…" She turned her head to see Hermione standing there, frozen in place but for her eye twitching, and frowned apologetically. "Oh, my dear, please excuse him. He's gotten so excited about this project recently. I'm afraid since the war he hasn't known what to do with himself. Do you know he's more enthusiastic about testing the recipes than I am? I haven't been able to drag him out of the kitchen for days. It's a terrible annoyance. I wish he'd take up golf, like a normal wizard."

"Wizards play golf?" Hermione managed to ask. The twitch in her eye wasn't subsiding. Narcissa politely didn't ask and instead focused on answering her question.

"Of course they do! They invented it, after all."

Hermione broke out into nervous giggles and allowed Narcissa to escort her into the mansion. Thankfully, she managed not to turn about and bang on the doors, screaming to be let out as soon as they were closed. Instead, she followed Narcissa further into the bowels of what was really quite a spacious and clean home. She allowed the extravagant decorations she spied through several open doorways to distract her and even asked a few more questions, which Narcissa seemed delighted to answer. The older witch finally turned to Hermione and lifted her hands.

"Well, before we head into the kitchen, would you prefer to take tea now or later?"

"Later," Hermione said decisively. "Let's earn our tea."

"A witch after my own heart!" Narcissa cried with an exuberance Hermione wasn't used to seeing. She felt the finally subsiding twitches return in full force and Narcissa coughed some. "Er, I mean, of course, I prefer to work up an appetite, myself."

"Quite," Hermione murmured in return, following a once more suitably demure and aloof Narcissa towards the kitchens. She pressed her thumb against her eye. Hard. A sudden explosion rocked the house and Hermione screamed and jumped, but managed not to cower behind any furniture and kept from reaching for her wand. Narcissa turned back around, face apologetic once again.

"The Witches' Brew," she murmured in explanation, patting her hair back into place. "Lucius mentioned how temperamental the apparatus is, didn't he?"

Hermione found herself unable to even nod and merely swallowed hard. Narcissa took her twitching eye as confirmation. She also sensed that it indicated if left to her own devices for much longer, Hermione would make a run for it and Narcissa would never see her again. Wisely, Narcissa decided to skip over the rest of the tour and get them started on their project.

"Yes, well, I…ah, and here we are at the kitchen!" Without further explanation and with a wary glance at some of the pictures still swinging upon their nails on the walls, Narcissa grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and pushed her inside.

* * *

For the most part, they had a pleasant time baking and cooking for the remainder of the afternoon, although Hermione chalked this up to her ability to ignore the fact that she was in Malfoy Manor and not Narcissa's wonderful hostess skills. Only one more explosion rocked the house after the initial one and Hermione found she was able to weather it rather well, for all the worried glances Narcissa kept darting her way, raising her suspicions even higher. Of course, the minute Hermione worked up the nerve to patiently ask the other witch what on earth was the matter, Narcissa was running off on a tangent, extolling the virtues of real lard versus that Muggle substitute. Hermione sighed and managed to listen with only half an ear until Narcissa said something very interesting, indeed.

"Of course, it's not like we needed the money, either, but Lucius was so tickled to have been asked – at his age, of course, you must understand that a wizard can be extremely vain – and it seemed like such a good opportunity to get him out of my hair – I mean, out of the house…"

Hermione paused from chopping onions, her eyes watering so badly that she wasn't sure she'd even heard Narcissa properly at first.

"Excuse me?" she asked, wiping at her eyes with her wrist. Unfortunately, that only made her predicament worse, as she'd unwittingly gotten some powedered Blast-ended Skrewt on her sleeves – Death Eaters were apparently very fond of spicy foods. Her eyes stinging, she dropped the knife she'd been holding and instinctively brought both hands to her face, ruining any chance she'd had of avoiding a complete cooking disaster, as her fingers were covered in onion. She cursed aloud the fact that half the recipes called for manual preparation of the ingredients, their safety depending on careful measuring and separation. Narcissa glanced up at hearing Hermione flailing about, swearing, and dropped her own knife, leaving several turnips on her cutting board, half-peeled.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, trying to get near the little witch, but half afraid of her histrionics. "Miss- Hermione! Please, don't move, I can clear your eyes, if you'll just –"

Hermione felt two strong hands grab her shoulders and turn her about so her back was to the counter. They held her in place.

"Water, now," a man's voice commanded and Hermione hunched her shoulders, certain it was Lucius. She didn't want Lucius touching her, damn it, but what could she do, she was in pain and only making it worse and he was clearly trying to help. She held still and felt something soft and damp pressing at her eyes gently. Then one hand left her shoulders and she didn't even hear him utter the spell, but she knew he'd waved his wand and healed her.

Cautiously, she slowly began to blink her eyes and the hand descended to her other shoulder again.

"Not yet. Rest them a moment," he said and she felt herself grow unreasonably angry at him. With a jerk of her shoulders she shook his hands off and felt behind her for the counter, turning around so she wouldn't have to see him – well, not like she could – no, that wasn't right, anyway. It was so he wouldn't see her. She didn't want him to see her, not this way, not a mess. Not when she was crying in his home again – and the fact that it was over onions didn't matter much. She hadn't wanted to be helpless around these people ever again. Holding her head up, she took a deep, steadying breath and felt the sting in her eyes subsiding, the fume of onions leaving her nose.

"Thank you," she managed to murmur, digging good manners up from somewhere, and she heard a soft snort of reply. She felt the small brush of air as her hero turned away from her…and then her world crashed to a halt.

"My pleasure," the voice replied, full amusement; then he addressed Narcissa. "Can I help?"

"Would you mind finishing the onions, dear? We're on a tight schedule with this particular recipe. There's a bit of a time delay on some of the ingredients and we have to add everything so precisely starting off..."

"The onions? Not at all. So, you're really going through with this project. Imagine my surprise when I learned about it when the application for a copyright came across my desk."

His desk, Hermione thought blankly. But…Lucius has been helping Narcissa all along. She told me so. Unless…she gave a small gasp and covered her mouth with one hand. No, no way. Slowly, gingerly, she opened her eyes. The cool air felt good and she blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the rays of afternoon sunlight shining through the kitchen windows.

"Oh, well," Narcissa began in that austere, hesitant manner of hers, "yes, I am going through with it. _And_ your father has been helping despite my best efforts." She lowered her voice. "What's more, he half scared poor Miss Granger away earlier."

"I'm pretty sure she can hear you, Mother," the voice responded and Hermione felt a long shiver run up her spine and down again.

Feeling along the counter, still blinking warily, she finally turned to face her hero of the hour. He noticed her looking at them and waved a knife at her cheerfully.

"Afternoon, Granger. Care to have the knife back?"

"That depends on whether I can murder you with it or not," she snapped back without thinking.

Narcissa gasped and looked between them quickly, her eyes wide, but Draco threw his head back and laughed, effectively diffusing any potential situation. Well…until he opened his mouth again, of course.

"I'd let you do a number of things to me, Granger, but I hardly think murder is at the top of that list." He turned back to his mother and held up the successfully chopped onions. "What do I do with them?"

Narcissa quickly wiped her hands off on a dish towel and walked over to a pot on the stove, showing him what to do, casting little, speculative glances between her son and her editor all the while.

Hermione's right eye, which had finally decided to behave an hour into their session, began to twitch once again.

Narcissa, bless her, noticed and once the vegetables were all sautéed and the other ingredients added, she put the lid on the pot and placed it on low heat to simmer, setting the timer. Then she turned to face them and with a clap of her hands and a bright smile on her face asked, "Now, how about tea?"

* * *

_**Relashio Rump Roast**_

_1 rump roast_

_sprigs of fresh thyme and rosemary, black pepper and sea salt, paprika to taste_

_2 cups of beef stock with additional stock to be added as necessary_

_1 cup red wine, Hawthorne and Vine label preferable, but a basic table red will suffice (save the bottle), or a cup of cider to taste (again, save the bottle)_

_4 small potatoes, cubed or quartered (if using cider, feel free to substitute an apple for a potato)_

_2 cups celery, roughly chopped_

_2 cups carrots, roughly chopped_

_1 large onion, roughly chopped_

_3 cloves of garlic, chopped or whole to taste_

_This recipe gets its name from the way the meat falls apart so tenderly upon completion. Use same large pan or pot throughout to provide continuity of flavor.* _

_Prepare the roast by rubbing it with the pepper and paprika. Salt to taste. Brown in pan on all sides, remove from heat. Cover._

_Chop vegetables and place in bottom of pan, starting with onions and garlic and sautéing lightly before adding the remaining vegetables. Salt and pepper to taste. Place roast on top of vegetables and pour in stock, then place sprigs of thyme and rosemary on top, crushing slightly to release flavor. _

_Cover pan and simmer over low heat for 3 to 3 ½ hours. Drink remainder of wine or cider while you wait. Roast should be very tender and if it isn't you either didn't cook it properly or you haven't had enough wine. _

_*The editor notes that it would be handy for any witch or wizard to own a crockpot. _

* * *

**AN: Just a boring roast with this one. Hopefully something more exciting next time. :) Oh, and like my nod to Dramione up there? Huh? Hawthorne and Vine wine, indeed. Phbbbt.**


End file.
